


Why?

by evilwriter37



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Death, Gen, I'm so sorry, lots of death, viggo has real human emotions, why did i fill this request?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 17:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14699217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilwriter37/pseuds/evilwriter37
Summary: Written for a request on tumblr. A Hunter brings Hiccup's body back to Viggo, and Viggo reacts in a way he never expected.





	Why?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry. Honestly. Grab the tissues.

For once in his life, Viggo was at a loss for words. He just stared down at the ground, at what one of Krogan’s men had dumped proudly at his and Krogan’s feet. First denial came at him, hard and fast. He’d move, surely, make some sound as he regained consciousness, grow panicked when he found out where he was, that his metal leg was missing. Certainly he’d wake up. He had to. He…

But this wasn’t unconsciousness. This was death. Hiccup Haddock III was laying dead in front of him, and Viggo didn’t know what to feel about it. There was blood all over him, a massive tear in the armor in his abdomen, in _him_ , like he’d been slashed with an axe. He probably hadn’t died instantly from something like that. He would have suffered, would have _felt_ it. Viggo’s eyes stung and his throat ached and he didn’t know _why._

“How did you manage that?” Krogan asked, clearly proud of this Hunter that had brought Hiccup’s lifeless form to them. Lifeless. Gods, that’s what he was. His face was pure white with the pallor of death. His chest was still. His blood wasn’t flowing, which meant his heart wasn’t beating. 

“Shot down his Night Fury with dragon root,” the Hunter began to explain. “He broke some bones in the fall and couldn’t fight very effectively.” There was a smile in his words. Viggo felt like he was listening to this exchange through a wall. He couldn’t stop staring at Hiccup. Now that the injuries had been mentioned, he could see them. His right leg was bent at the wrong angle, his right wrist and arm twisted with shards of bone poking through. 

Something about witnessing what kind of agony Hiccup would have been in before his death was tightening Viggo’s chest. Just looking at him and knowing he was dead was hurting him somehow. Why was this hurting him? Hiccup was his enemy. He’d tried killing him before. He’d _wanted_ him dead before.

But that had changed. That had changed after Hiccup had reached out for him, tried saving him from falling into the volcano. Despite all that had happened, all the atrocious things Viggo had done, Hiccup was still willing to save his life.

Finally, Viggo spoke, one shuddering, ferocious word. “ _Why?_ ” He didn’t lift his eyes from Hiccup though. He was staring at his face now. He looked so peaceful, almost as if he was sleeping. If only he was. If only he wasn’t…

“What do you mean, Viggo?” Krogan asked him.

Viggo tried to rouse himself from this disbelief and pain that had fallen over him, but he couldn’t. He should have tried to argue that killing Hiccup was stupid, that they could have used him, gotten information from him. He should have tried to mask his anger or pretend it was something else, but he didn’t do any of those things.

Instead, he drew his dagger, and the Hunter in front of him never saw it coming. Why would one of his leaders slash his throat upon delivering such a prize to them? He clutched at the wound with both hands, fingers doing nothing to keep the blood from spurting out from his body. He tumbled backwards with a gurgling, choking sound, then didn’t move again, just as dead as Hiccup.

Viggo blinked something out of his eyes. Tears. They were tears. He let himself admit that.

Krogan grabbed him, spun him around towards him.

“What in the name of the gods has gotten over you?!” Krogan shouted, and finally Viggo looked at him, sneering, brows drawn down in anger. Yes, that’s what he was feeling now. _Anger._ The man he had just killed had had the audacity to take Hiccup from this world, and, he realized, from him. 

Viggo yelled back at him, let himself utter truth for once in his life: “I didn’t want him dead!”

“He was our enemy! Why wouldn’t you want him dead?!” Then Krogan let go of him, a small smile curving up his lips, realization lighting in his eyes. He looked at Hiccup’s body, then back at Viggo. “Oh, is this your reverence for him showing through?” His tone was taunting.

Viggo didn’t know how to respond. He was too overwhelmed with feelings to know what to do. He hated it, he _hated_ it! He’d never felt so much before, and it was tearing him to pieces.

“Was your reverence actually _love_ , Viggo?” Krogan went on.

No. No it couldn’t have been. But the way he was reacting to all of this, the way this was _hurting_ him…

“Did you truly fall in love with a man over twenty years your junior that was on the opposite side of a _war_ than you?”

When Krogan phrased it like that, it sounded stupid, pathetic. It was, really. How had this happened? How had Viggo let himself feel this? He’d never felt love before, not once in his life. Not for Ryker, not for anybody. But what he’d felt for Hiccup… That had most certainly been more than reverence. It _was_ love, and now that love was being torn in half, chopped with an axe the way Hiccup had been. Now this dumb, weak, _idiotic_ love, was being taunted by this man in front of him, this man that was proud of Hiccup’s death.

Viggo struck out at him. It was easy. Krogan hadn’t been expecting it, hadn’t been ready to defend himself, and so Viggo’s already blood-stained dagger sank easily into his chest. Viggo had pierced him in the heart, the very same place that Hiccup’s death had stabbed him in.

Krogan gave a shout, looked down at the blade in him and Viggo’s hand still holding it in wide-eyed shock. Then that shocked gaze met his, met the ferocity and anger and agony there. Viggo didn’t have anything to say to him. He twisted the dagger, drawing a grunt out of Krogan. Then he drew the blade from him, let his blood gush out over the both of them, let him drop to the ground among the two bodies already there. He landed on his back, fingers twitching. Then a rattling rasp came from his chest and the twitching stopped. He was dead.

But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered because Hiccup was dead. Viggo felt stupid. So, so stupid. He didn’t know what do now. Maybe, just maybe, he could allow himself to mourn.

He dropped his dagger with a clatter, fell to his knees in the blood all around him. He took one body into his arms, the only one that mattered: Hiccup’s. He touched his face, leaving trails of scarlet on him, ran his fingers through soft hair that he’d wanted to touch affectionately while he was still breathing. He cradled him to his chest, rocking him. First a strange sound came from him - a whimper maybe. Viggo had no reason to hold it in. The only people around him were dead. He didn’t have to hide his emotions. 

So, Viggo clutched Hiccup’s body and bellowed loudly into the open, uncaring sky.


End file.
